


Hands

by avacadontdoit



Series: 75 Min Challenge [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M, NSFW, Needles, nothing graphic though, poetic nsfw?, sexual harrassment sorta, some violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-08
Updated: 2017-08-08
Packaged: 2018-12-12 20:16:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11744397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avacadontdoit/pseuds/avacadontdoit
Summary: [I did this for a 75 minute timed writing challenge using my own original characters]Rozzolo finds himself caught in the thought of a pair of hands.





	Hands

Pain pulsed like a second heart just beneath the flesh of his throat and his forehead. His eyelids weighted down struggled to open. One eye won the battle and glanced around the room then slammed shut at the rays of sun that had started to trickle into the room through a single window above arm’s length. The other ventured open and noted a tall lithe form by the window; their hands retreated from the side of the window.

“Manolo, it’s too early. Three more hours, mi amor.”

Rozzolo closed both eyes and turned to nestle into his bed. He jolted as his cheeks touched cold steel. “What-” White bolts of lightning struck across his vision as his shoulders screamed at the sudden movement and his brain jostled around his skull. 

“Good morning,” a voice which definitely wasn’t Manolo’s responded and the blurry form approached him. It leaned in close and whispered into his ear,” mi amor.” The person let those words hang a few seconds before a hand cold as a freezer connected with the right side of his jaw and slammed it back into the steel again.

He balled his hand into a fist and swung back, or would have if not for the firm cold metal that collided with his knuckles and the sting of leather grinding into the tender flesh of his wrist. He gritted his teeth and sucked in a sharp breath.

“Who the fu-” A finger pressed against his lips as the form, gradually obtaining shape leaned in. “Ah, ah, ah, there shall be no such language in my house.” Rozzolo could make out a mass of blonde ringlets, and a slim face with high set cheekbones, but the feature that connected were two sky blue eyes with a pool of pink resting within them, only now the pink surged like a tidal wave within his irises.

Memories of the attack charged at him. There had been a few cloaked figures, but the little there had been was more than enough to wipe out their community with only the sounds of the dying caught halfway in their throats and the pleads of souls wishing for their suffering to end. He had fought best that he could with his garrote which thankfully, Manolo had not hidden from him that morning. Then this, man, this thing. Who had looked at him with lust and fire in his eyes. He had whacked off its nose then the man had bit him. Something about sharing his power and Rozzolo interesting him. This was the man who had called for the slaughter of his community, and with them, his beloved husband.

“I take it you recall the events then?” A shit eating grin spread across his face. Rozzolo threw himself against the restraints and found his legs tied back as well, the material tightened further as he applied resistance. Blood trickled underneath the binding. The man frowned, wrinkling the bandaging across the cave where his nose would have been. “Well that simply will not do. You’ll ruin the fresh shirt and pants I brought you. Here,” he slammed a needle with an aquamarine liquid in it into Rozzolo’s arm.

Rozzolo squirmed and bit back a shout at the jab and the breaking of flesh. Where had he gotten that from? The liquid bubbled in the spot just beneath the needlepoint then flared out broiling down his arm for a brief moment before it simmered then finally settled.

The man mentioned something about unlabeled needles and promises of good results either way. What was it? But like hell that man would tell him as he gave an energetic wave in the doorframe then shut the door behind him.

Manolo….. He had heard him shouting for help, rushed to help him, but too late. The beating he had taken from one of the cloaked robes still pulsed across his body as a reminder. Eyes that stared into nothingness had greeted him. Regularly bouncy hair that matched his attitude fell flat, slicked with blood, tears and sweat. And his hands...hands that spoke more words than a picture could ever tell silenced.

A twitch in Rozzolo’s pants pulled him from the memory of his husband. What? He did have a morbid sense of humor but nothing like this… His eyes narrowed as his brain chalked it up to whatever the man had injected him with.

First he kills everybody he loves about, kidnaps him and now had the nerve to drug him?? No doubts the pervert was watching somewhere. If that was the case then he wouldn’t give him the pleasure...if he could even pleasure himself with his limbs restrained. His cheek swelled up, blurring the vision in his eyes where it had met the hard metal.

Manolo had done this once before, only his hands had been bound with a scarf which he had made sure to triple tie, then dug a finger between the flesh and the fabric to ensure some breathing room for his wrists. Rozzolo teased Manolo, “Really? Doesn’t that kind of defeat the purpose?” Manolo leaned in and kissed his forehead. “You must be safe and comfortable at all times.” Heat flushed across the younger man’s face, “sh-shut up and let your hands do the talking.”

A large hand covered in calluses caressed his cheek then smoothed down his neck to his collarbone where the fingers ghosted over the bone. Rozzolo gasped. The other hand slid up his shirt and kissed up his stomach to nipples which quickly raised to greet the touch. 

Manolo shifted so that he straddled him now, and thumbed nipples far too eager for the attention. Rozzolo bit his lip and groaned as the rough texture glided and slipped across the smooth flesh. “Mhhhm, Manolo.”

He courted his nipples as his other hand followed suit and Rozzolo’s hips bucked beneath him. “Manolo, I”. His pants were suddenly three sizes too small and demanded immediate attention. “Manolo,” he panted as his hands trailed back down to said pants and tugged at the hem. Rozzolo rutted against the touch, a whimper escaped his throat and tears formed in his eyes.

“Manolo, pl-please.”

 

The same rough hands gingerly lifted Rozzolo up, the other hand curled into the dip of his pants as they slid down, down to his knees and released Rozzolo. His chest heaved and his stomach tightened as he heard Manolo’s breath grow shallow and labored. Gods, just touch me.

The hands skirted his length then detoured to the milky white thighs, pressing into them and rubbing circles to leave him unattended. “I need you to tou-” A moan escaped his lips as the rough hands followed their circular path higher and higher up his thighs, the hair on the knuckles brushed against him and he gasped again.

The hands followed a call and response as Rozzolo quickly lost speaking ability, reduced to whimpers, groans and moans. Tears formed in his eyes at the sensations that streaked through his body, each a bigger and bigger wave until the knot in his stomach had tightened into itself. One hand slid into place with Rozzolo’s own and held tight as he rode out his orgasm, teary eyed shouting out Manolo’s name. Even as the last of it left him and his body rested against the bed, those hands held tight and balanced him. His eyes, now heavy fluttered shut only to open a moment later. 

“Te amo, Manolo.”

The bed felt cold against his back, almost as though it were metal….

Rozzolo’s eyes shot open and surveyed his surroundings. Manolo? The high window and tile flooring greeted him and his pain surged back again as he regained his senses. A damp feeling against his pants caught his attention, a stain spread across the seat of his pants.

As the silence and absence swelled up in his throat and fresh tears pricked his eyes, he thought to himself, “Well, so much for those fresh clothes staying clean.”

**Author's Note:**

> fkhff  
> I blame twitter for encouraging my first work to be....this.  
> I like it though! I almost NEVER write anything remotely like this. It's always just "they fell back into the bed. THE NEXT MORNING", so hooray for stepping outside of comfort zones??  
> Maybe one day I will finish the story this character is in so that you can see him in action.


End file.
